Dreamland
by ellie-balloo
Summary: Alex and Gene get closer but a simple undercover operation threatens to tear them apart when things go horribly wrong. Will dreams come true? And would you want them to.......
1. Chapter 1

Gene lay still in the darkness. Where the bloody hell was he? He shifted uncomfortably. And what the bloody hell was he lying on? Springs creaked and groaned beneath him. Ah, it was all coming back to him now. Along with the fuzzy head and foul taste in his mouth.

He'd stumbled up Luigi's back stairs to Bolly's door, wine and glasses in hand. The problem was, it had taken him so long to actually make the decision to head up to her flat that he was half-cut by the time he got there. He'd hung on as long as he could, mainly to prove to Luigi that Alex Drake was the last thing on his mind as he sat drinking, alone in their corner. Eventually though, his need to see her won out over his stubborn desire to irritate the foreigner, and when Luigi's back was turned Gene had slid out of the corner and made his escape. He remembered using his head to knock on Drake's door as both his hands were full, and practically falling onto her when she swung open the door. Bolls hadn't batted an eylid mind you. It was almost as if she were expecting him. He'd been steered gently and efficiently into her living room, coat removed and wine poured, all in what seemed to Gene the space of a few seconds. Classy mare his Bolly, ready for any eventuality. Deal with anything with no fuss or bother. Well, unless she's having one of her Miss Fruitcake moments…. He remembered, remembered – what? Gene rubbed at his eyes and began to sit up. Well, at least he was still dressed, no shoes or socks on though. He rolled his head on his shoulders trying to get the crick out of his neck – no tie or jacket either. Bolly must have taken them off him – and he couldn't remember! Bloody hell, he'd dreamed of that woman removing items of his clothing and when it actually happens he's too pissed to notice! As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light shining in from the street outside, Gene noticed a blanket lying on the floor next to the sofa. She must have covered him up, made sure he was warm and comfortable. He smiled to himself in the gloom, she cared about him, his Bolly-Knickers. She might not show it all the time, well, hardly ever, but she cared enough to let him into her flat, drink with him, then put him up on her sodding back-breaking sofa, tucking him in before heading off to her own bed. Wonder what had woken him? Usually it would take the Veteran Police's Brass Band to drag him out of the land of nod if he'd had a skin full. Gene heaved himself up off the protesting sofa and headed to the bathroom. A jimmy riddle and a swish round with some of that mouthwash stuff should sort him out, then he'd find his clobber and head for home. Or the station if it wasn't worth going back to bed; he could always grab forty winks in his office before everyone else arrived.

* * *

Gene was in the living room scooting about trying to find his tie, or jacket, well anything really when he heard the sound. What was it? He stopped, tilting his head to one side, eyes narrowed in concentration. There it was again – crying? Groaning? Moaning? Lord preserve us, Bolly lying in her bed, moaning. How much can one man take. He stood balanced on the bare balls of his feet, not knowing what to do next, eyes glinting in the darkness. Maybe he should just go and check on her – listen outside her door, make sure she's ok. It wouldn't make him a pervert, just a concerned friend. A colleague. A mate. Before he knew it, Gene found himself facing Alex's bedroom door, bare footed and bare chested in the darkness, listening.


	2. Chapter 2

After a few moments of silence Gene snorted quietly to himself – what the bloody hell was he doing creeping about in a collegue's flat half-naked. Listening at her bedroom door like some nonce. He was, _is_, the Manc Lion for christ's sake, not some dribbling dipstick with a girly crush on a fellow officer. A fellow officer with all the requisite lady bits mind you and long, long legs, a dirty mouth and a brain as sharp as, well, his own. Not to mention those big wet eyes, pouting mouth, the way she filled out a skimpy dress…… Christ, get a grip man! Get dressed and leave. Now.

Scowling, Gene turned away from her door and began to make his way quietly down the dim hallway when he suddenly heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks. His own name. He listened intently, eyes sparking. A waking bird called outside, the floorboards quietly whispered beneath his naked feet and the ticking of a clock marked time with his heart beat. There it was again, he was sure of it – his name. As Gene debated turning back towards the bedroom a loud scream pierced the silence.

It took less than a second for Gene to reach the bedroom door and slam it open, skidding into the room, coming to a sharp halt. Alex was before him, sitting up in her bed, black and red sheets pooled around her like molten lava. She was staring at him, tears coursing down her cheeks, chest heaving beneath her thin cotton sweater. "Gene?" Her voice was a trembling whisper. "I had a bad dream. You were dying, I couldn't stop them." Her breath hitched in her throat as she continued to gasp for air. Looking around wildly, Alex clutched at the satin fabric surrounding her. "I did try. I did! You have to believe me! Oh God….." Her gasps became sobs as she covered her face, whole body trembling.

Meanwhile, Gene remained silent and still, watching her keenly. Not moving towards her, not moving away. Inside his chest his heart was hammering. His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands as he fought against the urge to reach out and touch her. Was she truly awake or still caught up in her nightmare? He might scare her half to death if she wasn't on this planet yet. Bet Bolly would know what to do if it were the other way round - her and her psychological bollocks. But she was there, sobbing. Over him. Sort of. Gene took a breath and opened his mouth to speak.

Before he could utter a sound Alex's hands fell away from her face and their eyes met. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. In two strides Gene was lowering himself gently beside her. "Bolls, Bolls, my fuitcake Bolly." He reached towards her and pulled her into his embrace, cushioning her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm not dead Alex. I'm here, alive and well." He paused. "Well, as well as can be expected after falling asleep on that sofa." She continued to sob quietly against his shirt, the dampness of her tears seeping through onto his skin. He slowly stroked her hair, murmuring a stream of gentle nonsense to her, occasionally caressing her ice-cold arms and trailing his hands along her spine. As Alex began to relax, her sobs slowing to sporadic shuddering sighs, she curled into him, snaking her arms around his waist, breath whispering into the open neck of his damp shirt. Gene also began to relax, the adrenalin that pulsed through his system on hearing her scream beginning to subside, leaving him warm and heavy limbed. Without realising it, he began to ease down onto the bed, taking Alex with him, until they both lay tangled on the crumpled sheets.


	3. Chapter 3

_The child stood alone on the hill, looking down on the end of everything she had ever known, ever loved. The wind snapped strands of hair across her face as her parents burned below. She stayed on the hill, heart breaking, the smell of scorched metal searing her throat, nose, and eyes. _

Alex Drake was dreaming. Soft sighs whispered through the quiet room, turning to whimpers as her heart beat faster and sweat began to prick her body. She shifted slightly in the soft, warm bed, her pulse growing ever more erratic, short sharp gasps of breath punctuating the silence.

_Alex Price could feel her eyes pricking with the heat of tears but nothing else. The rest of her body was numb: no fingers, no toes, no heart or soul. Still the metal flamed blocking the sun with its acrid smoke, mercilessly consuming her past, her present, her future. Nothing remained but darkness. _

In the still bedroom, Alex Drake stirred. Hot tears from her flickering eyes coursed down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow beneath. She pressed her tightly clenched fists into her chest as if desperately trying to push out the pain, and curled her body into itself, becoming as small and insignificant as possible.

_The little girl was not aware of how long she remained alone on the hill watching her parents burn. Time was absent, made no sense. She was trapped somewhere beyond it. When a warm, strong hand grasped her small, frail one, time juddered, stuttered and finally began to run again, like the sand in a timer, flowing smoothly and unstoppably, oblivious to her pain. She felt herself lifted into a firm embrace, cradled against a broad chest. Her senses re-awoke and she began to be flooded with sensations – the scented echo of whiskey and tobacco, the roughness of the woollen coat upon her cheek, the salty taste of her own tears and the sound of a deep, rumbling voice uttering comforting words that made no sense to her, but nevertheless were filled with compassion_. _These new sensations diluted the smell, the sound and the touch of death. _

Her heartbeat slowing, her breathing steadying, Alex Drake slept on, resting her cheek against the broad chest of her superior officer, the faint scent of whiskey and tobacco soothing her. Her left arm was flung carelessly across the bed; her right curled possessively around his neck, warm hand tucked beneath the collar of his shirt. She shifted slightly, sliding her right leg over his and whispered in her sleep. "Gene." His lips twitched imperceptibly. "Gene-Genie." Although sleeping soundly, her voice, as in wakefulness, elicited in Gene Hunt an instinctive immediate response and he turned towards her, sliding down to bury his face in her hair. They slept on.

Alex's hand slowly found its way beneath the warmed cotton of his shirt to lie upon his heart, as the other glided over skin to rest on his smooth back. Her head turned, mouth touching his neck. Gene breathed in the scent of Alex's soft hair, both arms wrapped around her small frame. Under her sweater, his hands were still; one resting gently on her hip, the other pressing firmly, fingers splayed across her narrow back , until her breasts were crushed against his body. The heat of their bodies enticed them further into the thick warmth of deep, satisfying slumber. In the quiet room they slept on, limbs entwined, oblivious to the coming dawn.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex Drake was awake. Her sleep drugged mind grasping at consciousness upon the realisation of a rather confusing fact – she was not alone. It seemed she was wrapped around a body, a man's body, in a most intimate manner: lips pressed against the prickly jawline, a firm leg resting between her own, pressed up against her….. She felt rather flushed. A familiar scent was brushing against the tip of her memory creating a warm, and slightly heated sensation throughout her languid body. What was it? Alcohol? Well that was pretty usual these days. Something more though, a particular….. Whiskey! That was it! Whiskey and, what else? A musky, woody smell… Tobacco! She smiled to herself. I knew I'd get there eventually. Whiskey and tobacco……

Oh. Shit.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes.

* * *

Alex lay still, her mind racing. How should she handle this 'situation'? She was in bed with _her boss _for god's sake!! Ok, they hadn't actually done anything. Had they? She mentally scanned her body for tell-tale signs. Well, she may be feeling certain 'sensations', but they had nothing to do with satiated desire. Not that she desired Hunt, she added quickly to her internal conversation. No, no no, not at all. So what if every part of her body seemed welded to his? She'd been asleep. Unconscious. Just because certain parts of her anatomy were throbbing pleasantly didn't mean she had feelings for him. It was a perfectly natural physical reaction to the intimate situation she found herself in and was in no way connected to whom she found herself in the situation with! So there! She smiled a satisfied smile to herself. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it Gene Hunt. Anyway, they were both fully dressed. Although both her hands did seem to be inside his shirt. And her sweater had ridden up her body to expose her breasts, which were pressing up against him in an alarmingly pleasurable manner! She also seemed to be clenching his left leg rather tightly between her own, hence the throbbing.......

Time to get up! Now! Before he wakes and smirks his irritating smirk. She should shower and gather her thoughts on how to handle him. It! Not him, _it _- the 'situation'. There would no handling of Gene Hunt. Oh god, a _cold_ shower would probably be a good idea.

Tentatively, Alex Drake began to extricate herself from the 'situation'. Inch by careful inch she eased her limbs away from Gene's warm, sleeping form, freezing occasionally when he attempted to hold her closer, arching her brows when he murmured her name. Ensuring her clothing was back in place, she was finally able to slide to the other side of the bed and make her escape.


	5. Chapter 5

The birds were singing down by the river and the air was sweet with summer flowers. In the distance a pretty girl stood waiting. Gene Hunt was feeling relaxed and content with life as he strolled along in the sunshine: that was when he began to suspect he was dreaming. "Bollocks," he said to a passing duck. "I might've known it. Gene-Genie doesn't get to do country rambles with pretty girls in the sunshine."

The duck regarded him with a suspicious eye as it bobbed away with its wife.

"Knew it," Gene grumbled to himself, as the sky above him started to bleed with grey, and fat drops of cold rain began to fall.

The tranquil riverside scene gradually melted into one of inner-city deprivation, polluted water sprouting shopping trolleys and rusty bicycles. The pretty girl no longer waited for him but hurried away on dirty white stilletos, hunched against the dankness. Gene continued to trudge alone by the murky river. Far off he heard the screech of tyres and gun fire. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, in the way that only happens in dreams, a car appeared, careering towards the river. Gene knew this place. He'd been here before. A familiar car, a familiar scene. No no no no not again, not again. Helplessly, Gene watched as the car sped ever closer. He knew who was driving it. He knew what was going to happen. As the car passed by in a blur, he made out the familiar figure in the driving seat just before it lost control and nose dived into the roiling swirl of the river.

"Aaa-lex!"

* * *

Gene sat bolt upright in bed, her name still on his lips. Gradually, as he became more aware of his surroundings he remembered where he was. Obviously Bolly had woken up and done a runner. Straight into the shower from the sounds of it. He smiled ruefully and ran his fingers through his hair. He could do with a shower himself – wonder if she'd mind sharing? Abruptly, as if reading his mind, the shower cut off and a few moments later he heard the bathroom door open, the soft pad of bare feet heading in his direction. As he listened he could almost feel Alex's indecision – a pause, a change of direction, another pause, then back towards the bedroom to stop outside the closed door. Gene waited.

* * *

Alex could have sworn she heard her name being called. She'd switched off the shower to check but nothing. Ah well, she couldn't hide in there all day, no matter how tempting it was. Wrapping a towel around her damp body, she headed towards her bedroom, hair dripping. Half-way there, deciding coffee was a priority, she turned back towards the kitchen. No, damn you, I will not be chased out of my own bedroom by Gene Hunt! Before she knew it, Alex found herself facing the bedroom door, bare footed and bare shouldered, in the hallway, listening.


	6. Chapter 6

All was silence. Gene could hear his heart beating but nothing else. Where was she? He quietly slid from the bed, shirt crumpled and undone – Alex Drake's doing, he thought to himself as he absently buttoned up, eying the bedroom door. It remained closed, giving nothing away. He walked towards it, making no sound as his bare feet sank into the soft carpet. On reaching the door he paused. Leaning closer he pressed his ear against it, the palm of his hand resting on the unyeilding wood.

Gene listened, eyes closed.

* * *

It was quiet in the hallway. Alex was still. Droplets of cold water ran down the back of her neck and her skin prickled with the chill of it. Chewing her bottom lip anxiously, she contemplated the closed door before her. Was he awake? Had he already left? She stepped closer, and rested her ear against the wood, fingertips touching its grain.

Alex closed her eyes and listened.


	7. Chapter 7

When the door handle began to slowly turn, Gene took a step back and waited for Alex. She did not cross the threshold but remained in the dim hallway. With her hair wet and wearing only a towel she looked much younger than the woman he was used to seeing in the office. Saying nothing, he watched her carefully, judging her mood. How was she going to handle this? Her eyes were looking anywhere he wasn't - she was obviously embarrassed. Her fists were clenched and her mouth a thin line – she was annoyed with her embarrassment. Almost unconsciously Gene adjusted his persona to the one she would be most comfortable with.

"Right then Bolls, I'd best be off. Can't hang around here all day like a bad fart in a church." He turned to leave the room but was halted by a hand on his arm. "Thanks."

"Why?" He stared at her unsmilingly. "If a colleague requires a comforting arm around their shoulders then it is my job as the senior officer to provide that arm. I can't guarantee I'd be quite so thorough if it was Ray or Chris having the screaming ab-dabs in the middle of the night, but they'd be my responsibility DI Drake, just like you are." With that he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

As he retrieved his shoes and jacket from the living room floor, and his tie from under a cushion, Gene's mind was racing. There was a loud voice in his head telling him to get out, get out, get out. Whilst a quiet but insistent whisper tickled the back of his mind – stay and tell her, stay. He grimaced to himself, tell her what? There's nothing to tell. No reason to stay. As he was leaving he shouted one last thing over his shoulder, "Don't be late for work Bolly-Knickers, big day today. Kick off at 3." And he left, slamming the door behind him.

Alex heard Gene rummaging around her flat, picking up items of clothing. She sat on the edge of her bed, towel still wrapped around her, shivering slightly in the cooling air. Go, leave, just leave. She screwed her eyes closed in embarrassment. He obviously couldn't wait to get away from her, probably thought she was a complete flake, not that he didn't already think that. Anyway, what do I care about his opinion of me? I don't. Not one bit. She heard him pass by the bedroom, heading out of the flat. Alex realised she was holding her breath. Would he really just go without saying anything else to her? Was he that desperate to leave? She heard him open the door, and then, just as she thought he'd stepped outside, shout his one last comment. The door slammed. Alex collapsed backwards onto the bed and lay staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Ah yes, kick off at 3. The big case they'd all been working on, the one that seemed to be giving her nightmares. Well, it should all be over with by this evening and a celebration would be in order. She smiled a small, secret smile to herself – he'd called her Bolly-Knickers.


	8. Chapter 8

CID was buzzing. The team had been working towards this day for weeks now and everyone was ready for takedown. Only five more hours to go, then they could all hit Luigi's. Ray was sitting at his desk, gleefully rubbing his hands together at the thought of knocking heads and a celebratory pint or two, when DCI Gene Hunt strode into the office. "_Afternoon, _Guv," Carling joked as he passed by. The Guv stopped in his tracks, staring straight ahead, before spinning on his heels and placing himself a few inches from Ray's desk, looking down on him as a lion would look at a jackrabbit. "DC Carling," he began in a steely voice, "When I need advice on my time keeping I'll ring that posh tart at the speaking clock. I do _not _need a ponce like you commenting on my comings and goings." He was shouting now, the rest of the team suddenly finding they had things of huge interest to do on their desks or in the filing cabinets. Gene continued, "Now find something to do, before I decide to find something for you!" he barked. With that he marched into his office, slamming the door behind him. Ray simply raised his eyebrows at Chris and found some filing to do. Hunt could be seen behind his desk, glowering, a sour look on his face. Time to keep a low profile.

A couple of minutes later, DI Alex Drake arrived in the office. She was looking a little rumpled and out of breath. "Morning Ma'am," Shaz smiled.

"Morning Shaz. God, I am so late."

"Are you alright Ma'am? You look a bit tired. Shall I get you a coffee?"

Alex replied whilst shuffling papers and checking for messages, "That would be great Shaz. Thanks. I'm not sleeping well at the moment."

"You and the Guv."

"What!?" Shaz had Alex's full attention now. "What do you mean, me and the Guv?" She was flustered, looking over her shoulder to check who could hear. "There is no 'me and the Guv'," she hissed. Shaz, looking slightly alarmed, took a step back. "I'm sorry Ma'am. I just meant he's come into the office like a bear with a sore head this morning. I think he had a bad night." She smiled nervously, "I'll just get that coffee." Alex sat heavily into her chair and, leaning on her desk, put her head in her hands. Why was she so jumpy? It wasn't simply tiredness. In fact, if she was honest with herself, she had slept better last night than she had in a long time. Well, _after_ the bad dream; when the Guv was… Oh God. Alex resisted the urge to bang her head on the table. Hunt's office door suddenly flung open and he stepped into the room. "Right you lazy toe-rags – the job's on."


	9. Chapter 9

It was a relatively simple plan. Gene had been undercover for a few weeks now, acting as a driver for an up and coming drug dealer who fancied a gun or two would make his dick the biggest in town. Today was the day he took delivery of the hardware, paying for it with uncut smack. Gene was driving him to the deal. All other operatives were strategically positioned around the area. Alex was with Chris in a beaten up old van, parked behind the warehouse where the main event was to occur. There was radio silence; not that the radios worked half the time anyway. Chris was munching on a Mars bar, nervously peeping out the window every few seconds. Alex ignored him, concentrating on the radio in her hand, waiting for it to spring into life. The Guv'd be fine. She was sure of it. He made a convincing blagger, he had the swagger. A blagger with a swagger. Oh God, she was getting hysterical. Pull yourself together Drake; you're a police officer with a job to do. Gene Hunt can look after himself, it's not as if he……… Suddenly Alex's stomach turned upside down and her blood froze – the sound of a gunshot cracked the silence. Without thinking, she wrenched the sliding door of the van open and was running across the wasted dockland towards the rendezvous point. Panic made her swift. Within seconds she was skidding around the corner of the warehouse, straight into the barrel of a gun.

* * *

Gene was backed up against the crumbling wall of the derelict building, the skeletal remains of the floors above dripping water onto the gun at his head. The arms dealer lay dead close by. Gene was pretty sure his own number was up too. When Alex appeared out of seemingly nowhere his heart plummeted. He wasn't in the best of moods as it was, what with some skinny armed bastard shoving his piece up his nose and the whole operation going tits up. Now that stupid tart runs straight into the middle of it. Only a fruitcake like her would run _towards_ the sound of a gun. Their eyes locked – her's wide with horror, his narrowed with a steely determination to get her out of the situation alive.

"Did anyone order a tom?" Gene joked with the man holding the gun to his head. "Coz if they did, they might want to think about asking for a refund." He looked at Alex, sending a silent message. "Not today love. We're a bit busy." Alex looked from Gene, to the gun pointing at her, then back again. Two against two. They were armed though, and her gun was in the van. Gene's gun? He was dressed in a scruffy, black sweater and torn jeans – it could still be hidden in his holster. Her eyes flickered around the warehouse. No, his gun was on the floor, near the dead dealer. Her mind was racing. Before she could get her thoughts into any sort of order, the other, fatter man pointing a gun at her grabbed her roughly by both arms and, leering over his shoulder at his companion, growled lasciviously, "Lovely. I like a bit of relaxation after I've killed a copper." Turning back to Alex, he loomed towards her, his mouth inches from her own. His breath was foul, and his tongue, when he licked his rubbery lips, was furred with brown. "Now then darling, we'll just get rid of this piggy here and then we can get started." The man holding the gun to Gene's head began to squeeze the trigger.

What a way to go, what a bloody way to go. Gene's eyes were fixed on Alex's as he waited for the blast. He'd always hoped he'd die in his bed with his boots on, not at the hands of scum in a dirty warehouse watched by the woman he ……

"Wait!" Alex's voice echoed through the building and the man's trigger finger relaxed a little as he glanced over at her. Gene remained silent and still, breathing steadily, watching Alex, but all the while hyper-aware of his surroundings. He could hear the gulls outside as they went about their business, somewhere in the distance a siren wailed. The rotting smell of detritus left stranded by the receding sludge of the Thames tainted the air. A slight breeze teased the curls around Alex's face, causing them to dance daintily against her pale skin. The low-life scum were interested in her now, he could see that. A little too interested. Don't do it Alex, don't do it.

"Wouldn't it be more fun -" Alex began, huskily, unbuttoning her blouse slowly. "- if we had an audience? I mean –" she glanced up coyly, her blouse now hanging open, offering glimpses of a red satin bra; "- if he's going to die anyway, why not give the poor sod a treat before he goes?" She lowered her hands to the waistband of her jeans, keeping her eyes on the man closest too her. Slowly she ran the tip of her tongue around her lips and pouted. Gene glared at her. What the hell did she think she was doing? He'd be killed; she'd be raped then murdered. Stupid bloody woman. If they touched her he'd kill them. He'd come back and haunt them until they were so terrified they'd be begging to be locked away nice and safe somewhere. Then he'd haunt them some more. And her. His heart was racing, panic rising in his throat. Inside his head he was bellowing her name. Run Alex, run. Don't let them touch you. He was helpless. If he opened his mouth he knew he'd give her away. They'd take their time raping a copper – it'd give them a special thrill. Gene's eyes were locked on Alex. She was standing half naked now, shivering a little in the dampness. Her blouse hung open, skimming the tops of her thighs, brushing against her panties. Her jeans were placed carefully next to her boots. She was barefooted. Dust smudged her little toe. That small detail brought a lump to Gene's throat. His Bolly, barefoot and naked to save his life.

The man holding the gun to his head was mesmerised by the actions of the prostitute and his companion, who was now sliding a hand inside Alex's panties, noisily licking her ear with his rancid tongue. Up to this point Alex had avoided looking directly at Gene, but now, as her tormentor began to fondle her breasts, slipping a course fingers under the satin of her bra, she stared straight into Gene Hunt's eyes. He could see her determination and desperation. A flicker of understanding passed between the two police officers and, as Alex reached out as if to caress her abuser, Gene smartly shoved his fist into his own captor's face.

* * *

It seemed to Alex as if it all happened in slow motion. She had so removed herself from her own body, concentrating only on Gene, that when he acted she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to respond. The man Gene hit fell to the ground like a sack of bones. Hunt dived for a gun, throwing himself to the ground but before he could take aim and shoot, the other man raised his own gun and shot Gene in the chest. A dark stain spread rapidly across his sweatshirt and he lay unmoving on the dirt floor of the ruined building.

"Geee-ne…..!"

Her scream sent birds flying from the building. Launching herself at her own attacker she managed to knock him to the ground before he realised what was happening. Other officers began to appear, racing in from different directions, shouting incoherently, or so it seemed to Alex. She flung herself over Gene's body, swearing and sobbing, oblivious to her lack of clothing. "You will not die, you bastard. You will not die. I won't let you." She scrubbed the tears from her face with the back of her hand and straddled him. Deep breath. Right, CPR. What do I do. What the fuck do I do! Her mind too hazed with pain, Alex bent forward and kissed Gene's eyes, his cheeks, his lips, then rested her head on his chest. The familiar scent of whiskey and tobacco drew forth a wrenching sob from the depths of her soul. This wasn't meant to happen. It must be a dream - that was it! The same dream as before. It wasn't real. Except it was all too real. Breathing in his fragrance, her nose wrinkled. Hang on? The smell of whiskey was really rather strong. She raised her head a little and peered at the stain on his sweater. Whiskey?

"Bloody hell Bolls, if you insist on pinning me to the floor whilst half-naked could you at least do it somewhere a bit more private?" Alex stared at him. Oh. My. God. "But … but you're dead. I couldn't stop them and you died." She remained on top of him, hands resting on his chest. Gene raised a finger to her cheek and wiped away the tear glistening there. "No Alex," he whispered gently. "That was the nightmare. This is real." Raising his voice he continued, "No on can ever tell me again that drinking on the job isn't the professional thing to do." He reached into the neck of his 'undercover' sweatshirt and pulled out a battered, pewter hip flask, now with a bullet shaped dent in it oozing amber liquid. The officers around him cheered, quipping about the drinks being on him. "Somebody get the lady a coat!" he snapped and Alex felt a jacket being placed gently over her shoulders. "Come on Ma'am. I'll give you a hand yeah?" It was Shaz. She allowed the young officer to help her up and support her as she wobbled on unsteady legs out into the fresh air and into a waiting car.

Gene remained where he was, watching until she was safe inside the vehicle before heaving himself up off the floor and lighting a cigarette. As the car drove away he blew a plume of smoke from between his pursed lips. Gene Hunt had a lot to think about.


	10. Chapter 10

Downstairs in Luigi's the party was really getting going. Upstairs, Alex Drake had just finished her third shower and second large glass of red. Sounds of laughter drifted up from below, punctuated by the occasional burst of tuneless singing from a tipsy police officer. Everyone was celebrating today's outcome. Alex felt as though she was coming undone. She could not get warm; she get could not get clean; and she could not get drunk. The day's events continued to loop through her mind – a never-ending replay of a waking nightmare. Her flesh still crawled where those insinuating fingers had slid across her skin. Alex shuddered, wrapping her arms around her body and squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Immediately she opened them again, the horror of Gene Hunt lying dead on the floor indelibly imprinted behind her lids. Not real, not real. He's not dead. _I'm _not dead. Alex was pacing now, glass of wine in one hand, the other absently plucking at the thick, baggy sweater she wore. If only she could get warm – leggings and thick socks and still she was shivering. She continued to pace, and drink, alone.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gene Hunt was thinking. He had entered Luigi's and hour earlier, practically carried in on a wave of admiration and enthusiasm. Gene had accepted the slaps on the back, the drinks and the handshakes, with good humour, shrugging off suggestions of heroism and bravery. Referring instead to the luck of the Irish and the universal truth that scum never wins. Now he sat alone in the corner, bottle of wine and one glass, watching the to-ing and fro-ing of colleagues and friends as they laughed and drank. Friends? Were any of them really his friends? Colleagues – yes. Workmates? Some of them. Friends? Sam had been his friend. The dream from the previous night flashed through his mind – Alex at the wheel of Sam's car. He lifted the glass of wine and took a hearty gulp. That woman. That loop-the-loop, head in the clouds, fruitcake of beautiful, clever-arsed woman had laid everything on the line for him today. Everything. Gene lit another cigarette, closing his eyes as he inhaled the satisfying fumes deep into his lungs. In his mind's eye he saw her again - the smudge of dirt on her toe, curls dancing in the breeze. Scum's hand on her pale skin. No. Quickly, he opened his eyes, taking another gulp of his drink and drawing on his cigarette. No. Crushing the smoke decisively in the ashtray, Gene stood and strode purposely to the back of the bar and headed upstairs.

* * *

When the knock at the door came, Alex realised she had been standing, glass in hand, staring at the blank television screen for at least ten minutes. She knew who was knocking. Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away. Another knock – well, four loud bangs really. "Bolly! I know you're in there! Open this bloody door or I'll knock it down!" Sighing, Alex placed her glass on top of the television and walked to let him in, knowing full well if she didn't he would make good on his threat. On reaching the door she paused, a mixture of humiliation and anxiety stilling her hand. "Bolly. Alex." His voice was gentle now, muffled by the barrier between them. "Open the door. Please."

* * *

Gene didn't think much of psychiatry, psychology, astrology or any of that bollocks but he recognised trauma when he saw it, and he saw it now in Alex. Dressed in a shapeless sweater, her feet encased in thick woolly socks she refused to meet his gaze, instead turning her back and walking into the lounge to retrieve her wine. Gene followed her, all the while wanting to reach out and simply touch her. Attempt to cancel out that degrading touch forced upon her in her fight to save his life. Jamming his hands into his pockets, Gene spoke gruffly to the back of Alex' s head. "You know Bolly, there's plenty of plonk downstairs. No point sitting up here on your own when you've got half the bloody Met to get pissed with." Her shoulders stiffened and Gene could see the hand gripping the fragile stem of the glass tremble slightly. "Come on Bolls, everyone's expecting you." When she spun round to face him, Gene almost took a step back on seeing the pain in the eyes that now glared at him. "I am _not_ drinking with a bunch of sexist _bastards_ who are probably nudging each other and enjoying the story of the nympho tart who'll shag anything to get a result!" She ended on a shout, taking another swig of her wine. Gene smiled to himself. That's my girl. You fight Bolly. Fight and shout and scream. Anything but scurrying into the corner and giving up. "Well Bolls, I never realised you cared so much about what people think. Especially a bunch of sexist bastards'" He raised an eyebrow and smirked. Alex glowered at him, threw back the last of her wine and slammed the empty glass down. "Screw you," she snapped and, pulling on her boots, marched from the room and out the front door. Pausing a moment to light a cigarette, Gene smiled to himself then followed her downstairs.

* * *

At first the noise and smoke were overwhelming. Alex almost turned and bolted back to the sanctuary of her quiet flat, but Gene Hunt appeared behind her, blocking her escape. Right, chin up, shoulders back. You are a twenty-first century woman, Alex Drake, and you do not conform to sexist stereotypes. Her heart thudding and palms damp, Alex stepped into the over-crowded bar.

As she made her way to the corner table the laughter and general hubbub slowly faded until all that could be heard was the tinny operetta whispering from the speakers above the bar. Alex could feel the heat in her cheeks and tears waiting to fall as every eye in the place was on her. The humiliation was almost unbearable – those who hadn't seen what she did today would by now have heard about it, no doubt with embellishments and in full technicolour detail. However, before she had the chance to bolt, Ray Carling appeared in front of her, blocking her way. Saying nothing, but looking directly at her, he began slowly clapping his hands. One by one, the rest of the officers stood and joined him, until the whole bar was on its feet applauding. Finally, Ray stepped to one side, enabling Alex to pass and sink gratefully into her usual seat. "Enough!" barked the Guv, and the clapping ceased, the noise returning to its previous raucous level. "What'll it be Bolly?" Gene enquired, but, before she had the chance to reply, Chris appeared awkwardly at the table wearing his serious face. Glancing at the Guv, then smiling nervously at Alex, he asked her if he could buy her a drink. "That would be very nice Chris," she smiled. "A glass of red wine please."

"Right you are Boss." Chris turned to leave.

"Make that a bottle DC Skelton," demanded Hunt brusquely, flashing Chris a quick, feral smile. Chris scurried to the bar leaving his superior officers alone in the corner.

* * *

Gene could see Alex was flagging. Although only halfway down her second glass, her eyelids were drooping and her head was nodding, propped up by her hand, elbow nudging the ashtray. They had barely said two words to each other since Chris had deposited the bottle on their table and made a hasty retreat. Gene realised he had never actually been relaxed in the company of a woman before, not even his ex-wife. Especially his ex-wife. But Drake was easy to be quiet with, considering what a mouthy tart she could be. Taking another sip, Gene surveyed his alternative kingdom. Luigi was polishing glasses behind the bar, muttering to himself and grimacing at the outbursts of sweary banter flying around the room; Chris and Shaz had squirreled themselves away in a cosy corner, heads close together, knees touching; Ray was whispering into the bejewelled ear of what Gene suspected was a rather convincing tranny. And Alex? He turned to top up her glass but didn't bother – she was practically asleep, head resting on her hand, sweater slipping from one shoulder. Gene wasn't surprised. After the adrenalin rush came the fall. She'd fought the fight and she'd won. That's my girl. Don't let the bastards grind you down. "Right Bolls. Bedtime."


	11. Chapter 11

Alex awoke weeping. For one terrifying moment she had no idea where she was, only that her heart was hammering and her cheeks were wet with tears. As the maelstrom in her mind began to recede she realised she was safe in her bed, not lying in the dirt surrounded by demons. Slowly sitting up she remembered, remembered… what? The relief of knowing she wasn't the butt of a collective joke; the warmth and noise of Luigi's; the Guv, DCI Hunt, Gene… Alex had a vague impression of his arm having been around her waist as he practically carried her from the bar and upstairs. Then….swiftly checking her clothing she found herself still wearing the sweater and her panties, leggings off, socks on. Socks on? Strange. So, he'd made her comfortable, tucked her in and left like a gentleman. Alex wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be alone in the dark and reached for the bedside light. As she turned, a glint in the darkness caught her attention. She gasped. A figure, still and silent in the darkness, watching her. She panicked. Frantically, she yanked at the drawer in the cabinet, desperately searching for her gun. The lamp smashed to the floor. All reason gone, her heart rose in her throat. He had followed her. The nightmare man. He had come to finish what he started. Already she could feel his thick tongue on her neck, fingers ripping and tearing. No no no no no! Sobbing now and blind with terror, Alex knew there was nothing she could do. She felt the bed dip and arms reach for her. She opened her mouth to scream.

* * *

Gene hadn't left Alex alone in her room. Instead, he had remained in the shadows, watching over her as she slept. Although tired himself, he had kept vigil, sitting in silence, contemplating the day's events, and the previous night's. Alex Drake. She'd turned his world upside down. Shaken him from his lion's den and forced him out into the open, into the light. He knew now he could never go back. With or without her he was lost.

As she stirred in her sleep Gene narrowed his eyes. What was she dreaming of? Him? Highly unlikely, he snorted to himself. Unless she's dreaming of thumping me again. Got a good right hook on her, my Bolly. A whimper came from the bed and suddenly Alex sat upright, staring wildly around her. Gene kept perfectly still, watching as she wiped wetness from her cheeks. She remained unmoving for a moment. Was she going to go back to sleep? Instead she began to turn to switch on the light. Panicked, his eyes darted about the darkened room in a futile attempt to discover a hiding place. He heard her gasp. She was scrabbling about like a mad thing, grasping and sobbing. The lamp smashed to the floor. What was the matter with the woman? Was she still dreaming? The realisation dawned on Gene Hunt that she was scared, terrified: of him. No, not of him – of the shadowy figure she's glimpsed in her room. You stupid bloody bastard, you've scared her to death. That'll teach you to act like a perv – peeping on women whilst they're sleeping. Swiftly he rose and went to her. Once she saw it was him she'd calm down. Maybe even resist the urge to use her right hook on him again. Gene sat on the bed and reached for her. That was when she screamed.


	12. Chapter 12

"Bolly. It's me." Gene was firm and insistent, repeating himself over and over as he held Alex tightly. She was fighting him, eyes closed, scratching at his body, kicking out her legs as she attempted to scramble from his embrace. "Bolly. You're safe. Stop. It's me. It's Gene." Over and over, until, gradually, her frantic resistance slowed, his words beginning to drop like bright pennies into the dark pool of her mind. "Gene?"

He murmured a response, loosening his hold on her and instead stroking her back, her hair, her neck, calming her, bringing her back from the nightmare. "Gene? I thought… I'm sorry. I was dreaming, I think. You were dead!" Her voice began to quiver and Gene hushed her, continuing his rhythmic caresses. "Oh God, I tried to stop them but…." Alex lifted her head and he could see fresh tears shining in her eyes.

"You _did_ stop them Alex. You were clever and brave and strong and bloody stupid and you stopped them. I'm not dead. I'm here, alive. Breathing. Heart beating – feel." He took her hand and pressed it over his heart. She felt the steady thud of it, how its rhythm changed, increased as she slipped her hand into his shirt.

"Alive," she whispered. "Real."

She tilted her head and kissed him.

* * *

Gene remained perfectly still. He neither responded nor pulled away. Every nerve in his body was tingling. Every ounce of his will was focused on not allowing himself to believe there was any true feeling behind her actions. She was confused, exhausted, probably still half asleep. She didn't know it was him. Probably thought he was that Evan bloke. It would be immoral to encourage her, but… Oh God….

Featherlike, her mouth brushed against his, nibbling at his lower lip. The soft glide of her tongue set his nerves sparking. She pressed the curved line of her body against him as her hands tangled into his hair. Still, he didn't move.

Alex pulled back a fraction, opening her eyes. So close, their breath mingling. Eyes fixed on his, she whispered his name.

All doubt, all thoughts of restraint left Gene in an instant. She was awake, she was aware and she was kissing him. Cupping her face in his hands, thumbs gently brushing her temples, he smiled.

Lowering his mouth to her's, he kissed her.

* * *

In the dusk of the room, time meanders like a swollen summer river. Soft sighs and whispered words drift through the thick, warm air. Skin slides against skin, slick and smooth. Long smooth strokes, flesh quivering as tongues trace hidden planes and explore deeper desires. Hunger rises, need trembles. Pleasure pools, bodies flush with heat. Lingering kisses, quietly quivering as dawn breaks, bleeding light onto the couple entwined on the crumpled bed. They sleep.

* * *

Some time later, as the sun outside was riding high in the sky, Gene awoke. Alex's warm, naked body was moulded to his, her arms clasped loosely around his neck, soft breath whispering in his ear. He lay for a while, savouring the feel of her, the peace and pleasure of the moment. Soon she would wake up and a new day would begin.

Alex stirred and opened her eyes. Lifting her head slightly, she was met with the guarded eyes of Gene Hunt.

"Well Bolly. Where do we go from here?"

The End

_Hope this ending is what people wanted. Decided not to go for an explicit sex scene - let them have their privacy! An author once said (can't remember who it was) that writing about sex should be similar to writing about people eating a fantastic meal - the reader doesn't need to know the fork goes into the mouth, just that the food tastes good!_

_Of course, I could always be tempted into writing the sequel ;-)_


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